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Does This Make Me The Bride?

2004-11-15_xx_12:14 p.m.


For a change of pace and because I was feeling like a displaced Cosmonaut (thank you Cracker), the inevitable conclusion of changing my activities for the weekend sounded like a very good idea. Instead of spending all of my evening and late night hours at bars on Friday and Saturday, I and the crew elected to mellow out. Mellowing out of course means we spent most of our social time at houses instead of in bars getting stupefied on the normal smattering of libations.

Friday was the impromptu Halo tournament, superseded by happy hour. Happy hour was less than joyous, but necessary evil in order to have the weekend start in any sort of proper manner. Video games that were once something I excelled at in my youth and a way of life, have now become an occasional distraction that I am capable of engaging in with ever lessening amounts of proficiency; getting drunk beforehand, helps out a lot. It is a bit disheartening when you are able to waste all the other players for several games of brutal first person shooter combat, only to be humbled when a late comer arrives to knock you off your pedestal in record time. One of my work colleagues (the late comer) is apparently quite the gamer as I was slaughtered by him time and time again and even when all of the players ganged up on him, he simply picked us off one by one. I think I�m going to start calling him �the predator� because he was seriously that good. We eventually ended up at a local bar close to last call nursing our ego�s, stiff necks and cramped fingers and did nothing but talk of the ass whipping we received in video game land and how frigid the night had become; it�s a wonder women don�t talk to us in bars.

Saturday was spent in bookstore heaven. I�m not really good in bookstores or more accurately, I�m way, way too comfortable sidling up and down the isles, cranking my head in impossible directions and sometimes just plopping right down in the middle of the floor to browse to my hearts contentment. Every time I hit up a massive chain like store, I always purchase several more books than I had initially intended; such is the curse of genius or at least the curse of being tagged as such. I ended up in the History section attempting to procure �The Art of War� and was sidetracked by the massive amounts of military and historical tomes I found at my finger tips. I completely forgot that I wanted to check out the HST books to try and recoup losses and complete collections, blanked looking for Harry Turtledove alternative history masterpieces and somehow managed to slip pass the graphic novel section with barely a sideways glance. I grabbed a magazine and a literary publishing list, a cookbook for eccentric Italian pasta dishes and bee lined straight to the fiction section and snatched up a copy of Fountainhead.

I had my doubts about Ayn Rand for a very long time. The several times in college her works would be brought up by random students or teachers and the few times I mentioned it to friends or colleagues I was met with sour faces and indifference; �dude her stuff is a really hard read� was a generalized response I commonly received. The witty and somewhat edgy adult oriented cartoons I commonly watch had taken several shots at her novels, thus confirming what I thought I had already known; Ayn Rand sucks a big fat one. But something funny happened to me on my way through life and another randomly met soul of a very respectful writing background suggested that I was missing something by not reading these books and even went so far as to suggest Fountainhead as my first endeavor. I am now completely drawn in; hook line and sinker and the rest of my Saturday and Sunday revolved around reading this formidable volume.

No weekend spent in the warmth of my southwest oasis would be complete without a bit of oddity thrown in for good measure. This is probably a good as time as any to break the news; I am getting married. If this is coming as a shock to everyone who may be scanning these lines of text, you should realize how stunned my parents were when I hit them with this information. Seeing as how I have very little in the way of dating prospects, let alone anyone to enter into marital bliss with, my mother calmly asked for an explanation which was recanted to her with a bit of giddiness at how clever her only begotten son had become.

One of my very good friends is a lesbian and under the current regime (and possibly those to follow) in power, obtaining the government issued benefits from entering into such an arrangement will be something she will probably never know in her lifetime. Between the two of us, se are slowly moving forward with a plan to purchase real estate for financial gain and if we are living together it only made logical sense that we should do so as husband and wife. Not only would we get the tax breaks for property ownership, we could also get certain tax breaks for being married as well. Seeing as how I am single white male and she is a gay single woman, George Bushes Amerika offers up exactly jack and shit for us when it comes to tax breaks, refunds or any other sort of government issued compensation. So why not buck the system and fight back? The arrangement would be pretty damn good for both of us. Marriage without consummation, tax breaks without commitment, not to mention the fact that neither of us has to change names, buy rings or even skip a beat in our normal social relations; I believe there are a number of men across this great nation that dream of being married and still date whomever the hell they want to. I�ve heard many a married couple beam, �I like totally married one of my bestest friends and its great�; well I�m going to marry one of my bestest friends and get to see her make out with chicks all the time! Take that conservative amerika.

At some point next year, prenuptials well be signed and a road trip to Vegas will be in order because the whole justice of the peace thing is just too white trash for either of our tastes. And what better way to poke a stick in the eye of the religious sect at their insanity of homosexuality than to marry a pretty gay girl in a drive through wedding chapel just off the Las Vegas strip by Elvis as he croons �Love me tender� and gyrates for us at our blessed union. I�ve always wanted a honeymoon in Vegas and it looks like I might actually get my shot at it.

There is one unanswered question that has been playing in the back of my mind, based on the arrangement we are planning. My friend in question is far from being a �lip-stick� lesbian and while she is definitely a pretty little thing, any inquiry to her wearing a dress would be met with hostile resistance and the rare occasions she would don a skirt or like minded attire would be something to snap photos of and threaten to blackmail her with. I�m pretty certain that I am in possession of more hair products that she owns and our respected effeminate qualities are pretty damn even. When the matrimony comes down and the deeds are all done and when the initial social endeavors post wedding come about, am I introduced as her new bride or is she introduced as mine?

But I�m sure such details will work themselves out, don�t you, dear reader?


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